"I Shot Him: James Tooler, ruffian"

By Deacon Davidson
Editor, Infernal Herald

James Tooler had quarrel with me over letters I had published about his murderous cousin, Samuel "Blaze" Elliott, three months prior to the display of flying lead betwixt Tooler and me.

Tooler stood inebriated on the boardwalk outside of Slaughter’s Saloon facing the office of our good editor’s newspaper, The Infernal Herald. He called out five times, and every time the same sentence: "Editor! I got words to give you on the account you made of my cousin out’n Agartha!" A full minute had passed between each repetition, enough time for him to take another long draw of rotgut and to fill up on it’s immediate and temporary effect- that effect of being given a sense of (false) courage. And each round of transitionary courage was accompanied by his challenge of "words."

I, being that "editor," was given ample time to prepare myself because of the young ruffian’s lack to action. His courage, no matter how strong by whatever drink, could not survive a walk across the street at me. A stronger man would simply walk across the street, unsheath his Colt and get to work; no words would have been required. But "Jittery" James Tooler was scared. And his fear gave me pause; a man who shoots scared is a dangerous man.

After bridling myself with gun belt and holster, I opened the door of the Infernal office and stood fully visible to Tooler, 10 yards distance from toe to toe. Street traffic had already stopped after Tooler’s second or third repetition of "words," moments earlier.

"I’m here, sir," I said. "What are your words, man?"

Of course, known to the reader and to this writer, Tooler had no words not meant to be delivered by bullet. He stood there as steady as his whiskey-lined belly would allow him. Then came his draw.

He fumbled a bit at the dusty handle of his Colt but soon placed firm grip and jerked the weapon from its resting place. It hung limp in his hand as if the pistol weighed 100 pounds, while he pulled the hammer back with his thumb. A quick shot flew from the barrel and into the mud in the middle of the street, Tooler’s pistol having not been properly leveled before firing.

He cupped the pistol in both hands, more firmly, cocking the hammer with one thumb assisted by the other. Both his hands, this time, brought the gun to bear; Tooler’s aim had the proper latitude, but whiskey made the longitude a more unpredictable affair. The report of his second shot was followed by the shattering of glass of The Infernal’s front window, which many a reader may have noticed to be boarded up these last four days.

Having given a drunk man a fair chance, I drew my Schofield from my belly holster, careful not to rub the front sight against the inside of the holster (a skill I practice for faster draws so as to cut down on time by eliminating any unnecessary friction.) In one motion, I leveled the weapon, pulled back the hammer and took my aim.

In that time, Tooler, took aim for a third shot. Holding his aim, he gained courage enough to take a step toward me so as to better his chances by shortening the distance between us. It was only a pace, though his false courage may have told him he was standing face-to-face with me. Whiskey may be warm in the belly, but it will always lie to a man.

His third shot made a better account of itself splintering the wood not six inches from my left foot. His courage, better, his aim improving, I took no more chances and let loose my shot.
There was no dramatic death as portrayed on the stage or in operetta. There was no clutching of the wound, no slow festering, no final wishes, no eloquent cry of "mother!" Poor Tooler simply fell straight down, crumpled into a pile like an army tent struck, quickly and without ceremony.

This editor, as he always has, paid the fees for coffin and burial.

The window is replaced. The blood is scrubbed. And the people walk that street where another soul has been added to the grim tally.

Update

Have not forgotten my few loyal readers. I've been busy with other projects. In the meantime, enjoy my painting/project blog at: http://carmensminiaturepainting.blogspot.com/ You'll find all my Old West painting and construction articles along the right rail of that site.